Happy Donuts
by darth typhoon
Summary: Primarily VashMeryl fluff, with some angst, attempts at humour, and stuff... Status changed to complete.
1. Life in the Slow Lane

Ok, this is my first real fanfic, so go easy on me… It's mostly Vash and Meryl fluff, so if you disagree with that pairing, THIS STORY IS NOT FOR YOU!  Please R and R!  ^_~.

Disclaimer:  I do not own Trigun or the fabulous characters represented within… Yasuhiro Nightow owns them.  I hope this disclaimer is enough for all the chapters  ;_;  I'm too lazy to write this twelve times  ;__;

*~*~Chapter 1~*~*

It would have been nice.  Polite at the very least.  Meryl Stryfe pounded the bread dough into the rough wooden counter wrathfully.  She reached for the flour, knocking the tin canister onto the floor.  She coughed as a cloud of white powder rose into her face.  Her face suddenly contorted in rage and she kicked the canister across the room.  It hit the wall with a loud **CLANG**, leaving another cloud of powder in its wake.  She curled up her shaking fists and clenched her teeth.  He had never even told her where he was going.  He had just… left.  She sighed, raising a tired, flour covered hand to her face.  Cooking had never been her forte.  She leaned against the counter, bowing her head.  _How did I end up here?_  She crossed her arms.  Living in a broken down building with her coworker, a less-than-respectable priest, and the infamous Humanoid Typhoon.  She shook her head.

            "What'cha doin'?" 

            Meryl jumped two feet off the floor, letting out a startled yelp.  Her boots hit the floor, slipping on the flour.

            "OW!" she exclaimed as she landed hard on her rear end.

            "Ooh… hey, are you okay?"

            Meryl's eyes traveled up nearly six feet of red coat, stopping on a concerned face framed by spiky blonde hair.

"I'm fine," she said coldly and quickly got to her feet.  

"I would've helped you," said Vash the Stampede cheerily, "but my hands are full!"

Meryl stared at the large brown paper bag he held in his arms.

"What's that?" she inquired testily.

"Groceries."  He set the bag on a clean portion of the counter and started taking things out.  "Just yesterday you said we were low on coffee."

Meryl glanced sheepishly at the empty coffeepot, recalling cup after cup of coffee she had drunk that morning while cooking.  Maybe that was why she was so edgy.

"But you left early this morning!  It's after two now!"  Meryl's voice rose in annoyance of the man who was calmly setting food on the counter.

"Er… well… I had a few hang-ups," he said with an embarrassed grin.  

"Like wha-"  

"Meryl, come quick!  We have a problem!" Millie Thompson came bounding into the room.

Vash threw Meryl a quick glance, but she was already behind Millie, running up the stairs.  He followed them, without stopping to think why.

The girls stopped at Nicholas D. Wolfwood's open door and Millie turned to the shorter woman, a worried look on her face.  Meryl peered into the room, her jaw dropping in disbelief.


	2. Bad Things Come In Threes

*~*~Chapter 2~*~*

"H-… how did this happen?" she asked Millie incredulously.

Hysterical laughter exploded behind her, and Meryl whirled around to see Vash laughing so hard tears streamed down his face.

"SHUT UP VASH!" a voice roared from Wolfwood's room.

Meryl looked back into the room.  Wolfwood stood on one foot, hopelessly entangled in his Cross Punisher's cloth cover.  He glared past her at Vash, who had fallen onto the floor in convulsions of laughter.

"I tried to untie it, but it's just in too many knots," Millie whimpered.

Meryl shook her head numbly and walked into the room, Millie following closely.  She stared at the incomprehensible knots and loops that bound Wolfwood to his cross.

"How did you manage…?"  Meryl sighed in despair.

"Don't… ask," Wolfwood growled.

Millie and Meryl tugged at the fabric and cord, trying to disengage Wolfwood's limbs from the web.

"_You_ could help too, you know!"  Wolfwood barked at the doorway.

Only a giggle emanated from the figure on the floor.  After a minute, Vash hauled himself off the carpet and crawled over to help.

After about an hour of tugging and untying, Wolfwood was finally free.

"Do you smell something?" Wolfwood said distractedly, his hand poised, holding a lit match inches away from the cigarette he had placed between his teeth.

Vash raised his head and sniffed the air.

"OH NO!  OUR DINNER!" Meryl screamed and ran out of the room.  

The three left in the room cringed as they heard Meryl trip and fall down the stairs.

"Meryl!"  Millie ran down the stairs, followed by Vash and Wolfwood.

Meryl groaned, sprawled at the foot of the stairway.

"Oh Meryl!  Are you okay?  Is anything broken?"  Millie knelt beside her, her hands clasped and her eyes wide.

Meryl groaned again, then let out a long sigh.  "No, nothing's broken Millie."

She started to rise, then cried out in pain, falling once more.

"I'll get the doctor," said Wolfwood, already walking towards the door.

Vash opened the oven door and was thrown into a coughing fit when black smoke rolled out.  He grabbed a towel and fanned the smoke, making little progress as it enveloped his red-clad form.  

Millie and Meryl coughed as the smoke surrounded them.

"Open the windows!" Meryl rasped.

Millie stumbled around, opening windows and doors as Vash waved his towel.

"Could this day get any worse?" Meryl moaned quietly.


	3. Road Trip!

*~*~Chapter 3~*~*

Millie sat down at the kitchen table, with a few envelopes.

"Let's see… Mr. Wolfwood…Mr. Vash… oh!  Here's one for me!"

She opened the envelope carefully and read the letter.

Meryl growled.  It was impossible to type with one hand!  She ripped the paper out of her typewriter, crumpled it, and threw it across the room, not even caring whether it landed in the trashcan.  She averted her attention from the typewriter in her lap and stared out the window next to her bed.  She squirmed in her bed, trying to get as comfortable as she could with her right foot propped up on two pillows.  She leaned on her left elbow, careful not to put any pressure on her sprained wrist.  A sigh escaped her lips as she fell back into her pillows.  This was boring.  It had only been last night she had fallen down the stairs, and she already felt as if she couldn't stand to be in bed for one more second.

An energetic knock interrupted her thoughts.  "Who is it?" she called.

"Meryl!  I have to tell you something!"

"Come in Millie."

Millie bounced into the room, her brown hair flying behind her in her excitement.

"Meryl! Meryl!  My second oldest sister is getting married!"

"Oh, that's wonderful Millie!  I'm very happy for your sister," Meryl smiled.

"She wants me to be a bridesmaid!  The ceremony is in a week!"  Millie beamed with happiness.

"Where is it being held?" Meryl asked, letting some of Millie's excitement melt into her heart and voice.

"It's in my hometown, just past March City!"

"March City?!"  Meryl nearly fell out of bed.  "It'll take you at least four days just to get there, even if you took the Sandsteamer!"

"I know!" Millie said, her smile never faltering.

"You're not going alone, I hope."  Meryl's voice became more serious.

Millie's smile disappeared and she looked at Meryl innocently.  "Alone?"

Meryl knew that Millie was physically capable of taking care of herself, but still…  "Are you sure you'll be okay on your own on the Sandsteamer?"

"Oh…" Millie's eyes were wide.  "I never thought of that."

A thoughtful silence grew between them.  Millie was tall and strong for a woman, but in mind and spirit, she was so much like a child.  Through the entire 'Vash Assignment,' as Meryl called it in her own mind, Millie had pretty much followed Meryl everywhere.  What would she do on a huge ship full of strangers for eight total days?

"I know!" Millie exclaimed suddenly.  "I'll take Mr. Wolfwood with me!"

Meryl stared at her for a moment.  "Uh… sure. If he wants to go."

Millie clapped her hands in delight.  "This is going to be so much fun!"


	4. Recipe For Disaster

*~*~Chapter 4~*~*

Meryl waved good-bye from her wheelchair to Millie and Wolfwood as they set off for the bus that would take them to the Sandsteamer.  She stared at the retreating priest, thinking about those first few chaotic days when Vash had returned with his unconscious bother slung over his shoulder.  Only days after his return, an even more unexpected guest arrived… the supposed dead Nicholas D. Wolfwood.  Millie had nearly gone into hysterics, believing she was seeing a ghost.  Vash had slapped him, and then hugged him, sobbing in disbelief.  Even Meryl had, after overcoming her shock, run forward in a welcome hug.  Knives had awakened soon after, suffering from amnesia, but still bitter about events he could no longer remember.  Only a month ago, Knives had left to become a plant technician.  He had been quiet, angry, and reserved, but he was no longer hateful of the human race.

"I hope they'll be okay," Vash said, shattering Meryl's deep thoughts.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," she said as she wheeled back into the house.  Wolfwood had been happy to accompany Millie.  It was pretty plain to everyone how they felt about each other.  Meryl smiled slightly to herself.  She could remember thinking, _Oh God, please don't leave me alone with Vash.   Anything but that_.  She looked behind her at Vash, who was still waving at figures long since gone.  His red coat wasn't the same one he had worn when he left to find Knives.  He had never said what happened to it.  This one wasn't as tailored, wasn't quite as long, wasn't as bright a red.  She watched him lower his hand and shove it into his oversized pocket, still staring at the horizon.  _Anything but that_.

It was inconceivable.  Completely mystifying.  He had been staring at the page for half an hour.  Vash sighed and let his head drop to the counter, making a soft _thunk_ as it hit.  How anyone was supposed understand this…  He just couldn't figure it out.  He turned his head and stared sideways at the ingredients lain out on the counter.  Two eggs.  Three-quarters of a cup of milk.  Three and one third of a cup of flour.  One cup of sugar.  Salt.  Baking powder.  Cinnamon.  Nutmeg.  Shortening.  His head began to spin.  It had taken him so long to find all these things… 

He looked at the book again, his nose almost touching the paper.  He squinted, trying to read the finely scripted letters.  His eyes followed the tiny print carefully.

"Deep-fat fryer…" he muttered.  What the hell was that?  He had no idea.

Who knew it was this hard to make donuts?

He put a hand to his forehead.  His nerves were beginning to fray.  He wasn't meant to sit still this long.  He tapped his finger on the counter impatiently and tried to read the recipe again.  His ears were beginning to ring.  He covered them, and the noise stopped.  Content that the ringing had stopped; he placed his hands back on the counter.  The ringing was louder than ever.

He looked toward the door, vaguely wondering what was making that noise.  He saw Meryl speed past the doorway in her wheelchair, her hands above her head and her eyes as wide as saucers.

He mumbled to himself in a detached voice.  "Mmm.  Look at her go.  I didn't think wheelchairs could go that fast… She-…mer- MERYL!"

He snapped out of his mental haze and started to run towards the door.  One of his feet flew awkwardly out behind him, and he soon found himself kissing the floor.  He blinked and scrambled to his feet, barely aware of the blood trickling from his nose.  

"IIEEE!  SOMEBODY STOP THIS THING!" Meryl howled as she shot out the front door and sailed over the porch steps.  "Oh…" She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as the wheelchair hit the ground.  The wheels sunk into the sand and the chair lurched forward, throwing her onto the ground.  She turned her head and spit the sand out of her mouth.

"MERYL!  Geez… Meryl, are you okay?!"  Vash ran across the porch, jumped the steps and ran toward the wheelchair.  His foot sunk into the soft sand and he flew forward.  Meryl covered her head with her arms as he flipped straight over her.  She looked up cautiously and saw him land on his back a few feet away, kicking up a cloud of sand and dust.  The cloud settled and she saw him looking at her upside-down, blood running from his nose and hair mussed and dirty.

"You ok?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Yeah."

"Good, because I don't think I can get up."  He made a face.

Meryl made a similar one, and rested her head back on the sand.


	5. A Leisurely Chat

*~*~Chapter 5~*~*

"So what made your wheelchair do that?" Vash asked; peering over the ice pack he held to his nose.

"I really don't know."  Meryl was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs at the table.  Vash sat opposite her, forlornly clutching the ice pack to his face.

He had helped off the ground and up the porch steps, since she was unwilling to get back into the wheelchair.  She sat now, gingerly unwrapping her sprained wrist.  It was only the second day since Millie and Wolfwood had left, and things were already going horribly wrong.  A random memory came into her mind.  She remembered the day Vash had left, finally donning the read coat once more, and strolling off into the desert, Wolfwood's Cross Punisher slung over his shoulder.  She and Millie had watched him go.

"I- I couldn't say anything to him," she remembered saying, with tears welling up in her eyes.

She looked up at him now, the infamous Vash the Stampede, the ruthless killer who destroyed whole towns and left only death in his wake, clutching an icepack to his bloody nose and staring out the window.

_I still can't say anything._

"Do you know anything about baking?" he asked, startling her.

"Uh… some.  Why?"

He pointed at the counter, the untouched ingredients still ready on the counter.  "I was trying to make donuts earlier, and I couldn't figure it out."

"Couldn't figure it out?" Meryl somewhat scoffed.

"The print is _this big_," he whined, squinting at his hand in front of his face, the index finger and thumb nearly touching.  "And what the heck is a deep-fat fryer, anyway?"

"We don't have a deep-fat fryer," she said.

"Oh."  His voice was laced with disappointment.

"But we don't need one."

"Oh."  His voice lightened.

Meryl stood from her chair, not putting any pressure on her right foot.

"Come on, I'll show you," she said as she hopped over to the counter.  She waited a second, then turned to look at him, an inquisitive look on her face.

He sat staring at her, his mouth open as if in some silent protest.  Then it snapped shut and he replaced the gape with a grin.  "Okay."


	6. No Money

*~*~Chapter 6~*~*

Vash chewed happily on his donut, a big smile on his face, as if there wasn't a care in the whole world.  Meryl dipped hers in a warm cup of coffee.  They had come out a perfect golden-brown, not one was burned.  She let herself smile a little.  For once, something was going right.  She looked out the window, the sky painted a bright purple-red.  

"What are we going to do about your wheelchair?" Vash asked with his mouth full.  

"I guess we have to take it back to the doctor.  We should probably offer to pay for the damages," Meryl said, wondering if they could afford it.  Vash made a strange noise, and she looked at him.  "What?"

"I played Wolfwood poker three days ago."  He stared at the table and grabbed another donut.

Meryl stared at him blankly for a moment, then her head dropped onto the table, and her coffee sloshed.  She should have known the nice moment couldn't last.  She let out a sound, something between a sob and a laugh.  "So you're broke," she stated.

He didn't say anything, but when she looked up, his face was slightly red and he was looking at the floor.  She just stared at him.  Two years ago, she would have promptly gone over and smacked him on the head.  She huffed into her sleeve.  She was too tired, to exasperated to move from her chair.  She looked the half donut she still held in her hand.  It was delicious, unburned, perfect, but…

Vash flinched at half a donut hit him squarely on the forehead.  He sadly looked up at Meryl, who was ignoring him and taking another donut from the plate in the center of the table.

"So what are you going to do?" she asked in an even tone, still not looking at him.

He shrugged.  He didn't really know.  There must be somewhere in town where he could get a job or something…

"I'm going to bed."  Meryl stood up and turned to hop up the stairs.

"Wait a minute, I'll help-"

"I don't need any help," she said sharply and continued to pull herself up the handrail.  

He watched her hobble up the stairs.  The donut he held in his hand dropped to the table and he buried his face in his hands.  

"See if I ever play poker with you again, Wolfwood," he muttered in irritation.


	7. Typewriter Blues

*~*~Chapter 7~*~*

M. Stryfe Company Report

Two years and five months after receiving our orders for the insurance investigayion

Meryl stared blankly at the paper, then ripped it out of the typewriter and threw it on the floor.  She inserted a new paper and positioned her hand above the keys, ready to type.  She stared blankly at the white paper.

M. Stryfe Company report

Tic tic ticca tic.

Two years and five monthsd

She snarled and maliciously tore the paper out of the machine.  She stretched her fingers and snatched a new piece of paper.

M. Stryfe Company Report

Two years and five months after reci3ev

"AAUUGH!  DARNIT!"  She pounded her hand on the keys.

M. Stryfe Company Report

Two years and five months after reci3evjhgjh

fsdjkdfdshdsgdxjuyujyuhdsbgjhyukdjhdjhxcjhcxjuhwsdzxdjkssedeuekuesseuiseie8ui

Meryl shook her head and brought her bandaged hand to her face.  She took a deep breath and rested her right hand on the typewriter.

Tic.

She sighed and let her fingers dance over the keys, not paying attention to what was being typed.

Tic tic ticca tic ticca tic tic tic.

She separated her fingers and peeked at the paper.

vash the stampede

She gawked at the typing, then stared at her hand as if asking _why did you type **that**?  _She heard a knock on the door and jerked.

"Are you still awake?" a muffled voice said through the door.

"Eeayeah… come in," she said, adding a few more words to the paper.

Vash opened the door and came in holding a teacup in each hand.  

"I made some tea," he said obviously.

"Oh.  Thanks," she said as she took the cup he held out to her.  She noticed that his hand was bandaged.

"What did you do?" she asked, looking at his hand.

He replied matter-of-factly. "Burned myself."

_On tea?_  Meryl scoffed, but kept her mouth shut.  She took a sip of her tea._  Eugh, decaf._

Vash leaned over her shoulder casually.

vash the stampede is a big fat idiot

"Well _that's_ not very nice," he whined, and dipped a donut into his tea.

Meryl shrugged, sipping her tea.

"So how long are Millie and Wolfwood supposed to be gone?"  The question was so casual it sounded forced.

She ignored it.  "Ten days."  She smirked as she heard him choke on his donut.

"Oh," he coughed, trying to keep a straight face.

She stared at her typewriter, wondering if she should break the awkward silence that had fallen.

"Well," he said brightly, "I'm off to bed!  Good-night and enjoy your tea."

He left, closing the door before she could reply.  She gazed into her teacup, and then set it on her nightstand.  She closed up her typewriter and set it on the floor, the report would have to wait.  She lay uncomfortably on her back, staring at the ceiling.  _I can't wait to get rid of this stupid cast,_ she thought lazily.  She pulled the blankets up to her chin and tried to sleep.

Vash quietly opened his door, cringing as the hinges squealed in protest.  He hung his coat on the door and set his teacup on the small table by the door.  His mind was nearly blank as he changed into his pajamas.  He stood about three feet from the side of his bed.  He stretched his arms out at his sides.

"I am a tree," he whispered, "and I am falling.  Whee."

He fell face-first onto his bed, hitting his head on the wall.  It was horrible to be so tall.  He got up and crawled under his covers.  The house was so cold at night.  A long breath escaped him and he looked out the huge uncovered window.  There were no stars to be seen in the velvet sky tonight.  The desert sands were painted mahogany-purple under the unusually pitch dusk.   The only light came from the distant horizon, a thin streak of pale blue light cutting the night in half.

"Why am I here?" he whispered to himself.  He stared at the sky, and light breezes whistled past the cut stone opening, seeming to answer his query.  _Because you don't belong anywhere else._

He turned over, away from the window.  Something was wrong.  He couldn't tell what exactly, but something wasn't the way it should be.  He pulled his knees up to his chest and gathered the thin blankets closer to his shoulders.  A slight shiver crawled down his spine, and he closed his eyes, blanking his mind to all thought.  His arms encircled his knees, pulling the blankets closer.  But no matter how exhausted he felt, he knew that sleep would not be won easily.


	8. Dream and a Prayer

*~*~Chapter 8~*~*

Flower petals.  Silken blurs of red carried on an unfelt wind.  They danced across his vision, but he couldn't see them.  He opened his eyes.  Raven black hair blew in that same unperceivable breeze, teasing across narrow white-clad shoulders.

"Rem," he murmured, his eyes widening.

Her head turned and she looked at him, warm brown eyes looking down on him through a curtain of straight ebony hair.  She said nothing.

He looked at her questioningly, waiting for her to speak as she always did in these dreams.  Her eyes held him, speaking silent volumes in a language he couldn't quite grasp.  A sparkling tear rolled down her cheek.

He started to sit up, quiet fear rising in his throat for reasons he couldn't identify.  Why didn't she say anything?  He looked deeper into her eyes, trying to understand whatever it was she was trying to tell him.  Her eyes shone with the same warmth and love that had been almost omnipresent when he had known her, but there was more than that now.  There also was sadness, and… pain.  Tired, deep, immeasurable pain resonating within those russet eyes.  His breath caught in his throat as he noticed yet another emotion, one that shook him to the depths of his being; fear.

He tried to speak, to ask what was wrong, to beg forgiveness for whatever he had done to cause her so much pain.  Another crystalline tear slid down her cheek.

He suddenly noticed that her face seemed darker than I had been a few seconds ago.  He glanced at the sky.  It was no longer a beautiful, clear blue, it had darkened to a strange shade of grey, infused with its former blue and a sickly orange color.  He watched at it deepened still, into that cold fire, then into a deep, horribly beautiful blood red.  The air around him began to warm, sending hot breaths burning across the exposed skin of his face.  The flower petals swirling around him glowed black against the crimson sky, then began to incinerate in midair as they blew past his horror-struck eyes.

He looked desperately at Rem, his heart nearly stopping as his eyes traveled over her form.  She was like a silhouette, with no features he could clearly make out, though the bleeding sky illuminated everything around him, she alone remained in shadow.  Her hair, blowing wildly in the scorching black wind, began to disintegrate, the strands becoming shorter as nearly invisible pieces were dispersed by the wind like ashes.

He reached out to her in panic, screaming though he could hear no sound but the deafening roar of the heat and wind and sky, beating against his body, sending shocks of sharp, hot pain through his nerves.  His hands passed through her reducing shape, and he recoiled in terror, clutching his burned hands to his chest.  With one wrathful gust, the tearing wind tore the remains of her body away, scattering like cinders and disappearing into the distant darkness.

He screamed wordlessly, physical and emotional pain tearing at every fiber of his body and soul.  His hands rose to his face, and he sobbed dry tears into them.  He pulled them away; repulsed by the way they had felt against his skin, warm, slick and sticky.  He stared at them, stained with a sickening black substance that dripped between his fingers and ran down his arm.

He looked up, past his unclean hands, at a shadowed figure standing before him.  It raised a hand toward him, holding a large, custom-made, upside-down-barreled, double action revolver that gleamed an eerie silver-blue in the blood-bathed light that surrounded them.  It was his very own gun.

The thin figure stood, holding the gun at arm's length, the gun never wavering, as the figure seemed to, amidst the billowing, whipping fabric of some otherworldly garment.  He stared dumbly down the barrel of his gun, then up at the dark apparition who aimed it with deadly accuracy at his blood-smeared forehead.

The click of the hammer as it was cocked was unmistakably clear even in the deafening howl of the wind.  He wanted to cry out, wanted to scream, wanted to make it stop, but he couldn't move.  An invisible force held him in a vise-like grip, forcing his eyes to remain on that pure silver glow.  He was faintly aware that his body was shaking uncontrollably and his hands still wavered in front of him.  His hair whipped across his face; stinging like a slap every time it brushed his cheek. Then he heard it.

The crack of gunpowder thunder that was achingly familiar shattered his eardrums and a wave of blinding pain barreled into the center of his chest.

Screams.  Screams in multiple voices that blended together into a cacophony of indescribable pain and suffering.

Meryl's chest contracted in a painful spasm and she shot bolt upright in her bed, cold perspiration beaded on her brow.  She clutched her hands to her head, trying desperately to free her mind from the nightmare that still gripped her.  Her heart pounded in her chest as if it was trying to escape as she tried to shake away the imagined screams.

No…wait.  Not imagined.  She was awake, but could still hear the screams.  Those terrible, blood-curdling cries that pierced her ears and heart were real.  It was coming from the hallway.  It was coming from Vash's room.

She ripped the blankets off her legs and stumbled clumsily out of bed in her haste.  She landed hard on her cast, and bit her lip painfully to repress the surprised cry that was rising in her throat.  She shoved it to the back of her mind and limped as quickly as she could to her doorway.  She threw open the door and it hit the wall with a ringing CRASH, leaving a doorknob-sized impression in the wall.  She staggered down the hallway and stopped at his door, vaguely noticing that the screams had stopped.  She put her hand on the doorknob, ready to tear the door out of the wall if she needed to.  A wave of realization swept over her and she asked her self; _what the hell am I doing?_  The silence was absolute.  There was no sound but her ragged breaths echoing quietly in the narrow hallway.  Maybe she had imagined it.  Maybe Vash was sleeping soundly on the other side of that door.  A scenario played out in her mind; Meryl bursting through his bedroom door in the middle of the night, waking him from a sound sleep and confirming any notions he might have had that she was a complete lunatic.  She laughed at herself disgustedly.

But those screams…  They were still imprinted on her mind, and her heart still held that dull pain that constricted her throat and threatened to take her over completely.  And the voice… was distinctly Vash's.  She was sure she hadn't imagined it.

She pressed her ear against the door, holding her breath, straining to hear something- anything- coming from his room.  She waited for a few moments, tuning out her own ragged breath and slowly calming heartbeat.  

Strained breaths.  Intermittent gasps and quiet sobs.

He was there.  And he was awake.  And he was crying.  Again.

She rapped her knuckles softly on the door.

"Vash?"  No response.  "Vash… are you okay?"

There was no response, no sound indicating whether he wanted her to come in or go away, so she turned the knob silently and slowly opened the door.

He was sitting on the floor, in the corner created by his bed and his nightstand.  His arms clutched his own shoulders and his knees were drawn up to his chin.  He was shaking visibly, and his hair, like his pajamas, was disheveled.  The blankets on his bed were twisted and tied and dragging on the floor.

Meryl's heart tightened in her chest as she took in the scene before her.  Her eyes filled with tears.  He didn't even seem to notice that she had come in.  Without thinking, she shut the door behind her and limped as quietly as she could to his side, where she sank to her knees.  She put her hands over his and tried to pry them from their white-knuckled grip on his arms.  Her sprained wrist tingled with discomfort, but she didn't relent.  He wouldn't let go.  His eyes were wide and staring at nothing as she tried again to unlock his hands.

"Vash," she whispered quietly but sternly, as if to an upset child.

The eyelashes framing empty aqua eyes fluttered, and he loosened his grip.

Gently, she unwrapped his arms from the insecure self-embrace, and one of his hands flopped laxly to the floor.

She glanced back up at his face.  His eyes were closed now, and he wore a look of exhausted defeat.  Just looking at him was painful.

One tear slid down her face and she tore her gaze away from that heartbreaking expression.  She slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest.  He was still shaking.  Every particle of her was screaming out for him to stop.  It was close to unbearable seeing him like this.  For now, all she could do was hope that her presence would make him feel a little better.


	9. Daze

*~*~Chapter 9~*~*

He was disoriented, his mind was hazy with a grief and pain he couldn't remember, though it still twisted his stomach into knots.  He stared down at the head of messy black hair resting against his chest.  He stared for several minutes before it finally registered in his brain.  _Is that… Meryl?_  He wasn't sure how he had gotten from his bed to the floor, when she had come in, or how long she had been there.  Her breathing was quiet and even.  She was asleep.  

He thought.  He thought hard.  What had happened?  He put a hand to his face in remembrance of the hot tears that had been streaming down his face when he had woken up.  He vaguely remembered a disturbing dream, but none of the details.  A red sky… Rem… Blood on his hands… A stranger with _his_ gun.  Wait… perhaps not a stranger…  His heart skipped a beat as he remembered with frightening clarity the glow of orange sunglasses like the eyes of an animal gone insane, staring at him, unblinking, just before the trigger was pulled.

He took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned his head back on the side of the mattress, closing his eyes in pure exhaustion.

He contemplated carrying Meryl back to her bed, then crawling into his own, but before he could muster up the strength or initiative to move, the sandman crept into his brain and he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Sunlight was steaming through the window when Meryl awoke.  She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.  Her neck hurt,  her legs were cramped, and she was sore everywhere.  She sleepily to sort out where she was, lifting her head from her 'pillow.'  She looked around, realizing that she was still on Vash's bedroom floor.  She hadn't meant to fall asleep.  Especially not _here_.  She rubbed her eyes and sat up.  Her feet were freezing, but her arms were warm.  She looked up at Vash, his head resting against the bed.  His eyes were closed and his expression peaceful, with only a ghost of the shadow she had seen the night before.  Or was it this morning?

She yawned and slowly got to her feet, trying not to disturb him.  He sighed in his sleep, but didn't awaken.  She slowly made her way to the door, trying not to make any noise.  The cast made that endeavor extremely difficult.  She made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen.  She didn't think about much as she prepared to make a pot of coffee.  She didn't want to think.  Vash seemed to be okay now, after whatever it was that had caused those screa-

_No_, she told herself firmly.  _Don't think about it_.  She performed the mindless routine that was making the morning coffee and tried very hard not to think.  She knew brooding over Vash's troubles would do nothing but wear her out, so she tried to think about other things.  Had it really only been two days since Millie and Wolfwood had left?  It seemed as if it had been a year already.

Meryl hobbled to the calendar and picked up the red pencil that was tied to a nail in the wall.  She crossed off two days.  _Only eight more to go_.  She felt a groan rise to her lips.  _Come on Meryl!_ She chided.  _It's only about a week, you can get through this!_

She made her way back to the coffeepot, which by now was almost done.  She filled two chipped mugs with the brew and turned to go upstairs.

"Milk and two sugars, please!" she could remember him saying, earning him funny looks at every restaurant or bar they chanced upon.

"He'll drink it black or get his own milk and sugar," she muttered in annoyance, and continued up the stairs.

He had seen her limp out the door, watching through a curtain of almost-closed lashes.  He waited until he could hear her limping down the stairs before he took a deep breath and straightened his sore back.  He stretched his arms and legs out in front of him and yawned.  He raised a hand to his tangled hair.  His mind was unusually sluggish and tired this morning.  His thoughts wandered back to Meryl.

She was so unpredictable.  When he had left to find Knives, she had watched him go.  It hurt to see that pain in her eyes, and he could tell that there was something she wanted to say, but couldn't.  She had been so much nicer to him in the weeks after Legato…  In fact, she had only hit him on the head once.

Vash chuckled quietly at the memory.  _I guess I deserved it_, he thought.  But now… since he had come back, she seemed more like her old self, constantly getting upset at him, but she didn't even bother to smack him over the head anymore.  She only sighed in exasperation and shook her head slightly.  She seemed so… tired.  There was definitely a little more coldness in her behavior towards him.  It was probably his fault.  He sighed resignedly.  It was always his fault.

But last night… she had surprised the hell out of him, even if he was too out of it to notice.  He still wasn't sure why she had come into his room in the first place.  He was even more uncertain as to why super-efficient, conservative, ever-practical Meryl had fallen asleep in his arms.  That wasn't like her.  Or was it?  

Vash went still and his features fell into a confused expression as he realized he really didn't know Meryl Stryfe at all.  After what, five years?  

He reviewed in his mind everything he _did_ know about her; that she was a kind, compassionate woman hiding behind a mask of gruffness.  But why all the changes?  

He recalled the way she had gently but firmly unclenched his hands, trying to pull him out of the hole he had dug for himself.  Maybe it wasn't a hole.  Maybe it was a grave.

He had been gone for close to five months.  He had expected the girls to be gone when he came back to the little village, but they were still there.  He remembered asking himself, _why are they still here?  Why didn't they leave?_  He had found out the answer soon enough; they had been waiting for _him_.  Millie, he could understand.  She was as sweet a girl as one could ever meet on this planet, but he knew that if Meryl had decided to leave, Millie would have followed her unquestioningly.  Meryl had to have a reason too.  Maybe it was because she—but no, that wasn't possible.  She couldn't really—

Meryl opened the door, cutting off his thoughts.

She found him awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back against the side of the bed.  He looked up, startled, when she came in.  His eyes seemed haunted for a moment, then that expression was replaced by his usual look of slightly goofy friendliness.  Meryl stopped in her tracks, shocked by what she could see.  The expression was no different than any other that graced his face, but his time, she could see _through_ it.  Such a normal expression for Vash suddenly looked so empty, so painfully empty…

"I-I made coffee," she stuttered, hoping he hadn't noticed the slight flush that was warming her cheeks.

"Thank you," he said quietly, taking the mug she held out to him with slightly trembling fingers.

She sat down beside him on the floor, and looked into her swirling black coffee.  When she thought the silence had gone on for long enough, she stole a glance at him.  He was staring into his coffee mug, as she had been.  His look was vacant and he seemed to be lost in thought again.  It was strange how anyone could look so serious with that ridiculous mop of hair falling in his eyes.  Maybe it would be better if she left him alone for a while, she considered, looking back at her own mug.  

"Meryl?" he asked softly.

She turned her head to look at him again, but he was still staring at his coffee mug.  He sat frozen, the steam from the coffee mug puffing into the air occasionally as his silent breaths disturbed the faint silver wisps.  It was the only motion coming from him at all.  She stared at him, waiting for him to speak.  Her eyebrows drew together slightly.

"Thank you."

Meryl opened her mouth in surprise.  What in heaven's name was he thanking her for?  He mouth opened and closed comically, like that of a dying fish.  She snapped it shut, deciding that she didn't know what she could say if she did speak, and looked back at her coffee.

"Hey, Meryl?"

_What was it **now**?_

"How come you don't hit me over the head anymore?"

Her head whipped around, and she gawked at him. "Whaa--?!  What are you talking about?"

A hastily hid smile chased across his lips, but not before she saw it.

She grasped her mug carefully in her left hand and delivered a good smack across the back of his head, releasing a torrent of barely repressed giggles from the tall man sitting next to her.

She put her hand in her lap and sipped her coffee haughtily, biting her tongue ferociously to keep from laughing with him.  It took a tremendous amount of effort.

Vash straightened up, still giggling like a schoolgirl.  She glanced at him without turning her head.  He sipped his coffee between short fits of giggles, a slight blush warming his cheeks and a smile evident in his eyes.

She looked away and sipped her coffee, allowing herself to smile, just a little bit.  As long as he didn't see, that was.  Naturally.

"You should do that more often," a quiet but (for once) awake voice spoke.  "Looks good on you."

She raised an eyebrow.  _Do what more often?  Hit him?_

"Smile, I mean," he added, as if in response to her thoughts.

So he had seen.  She let herself smile a little more.  There wasn't any use hiding it now.  He laughed quietly into his coffee mug.  She let go of her tongue and laughed with him.


	10. My Name Is

*~*~Chapter 10~*~*

(Three days later)

Meryl's mind was filled with the various errands she needed to do while she limped to town.  Sometimes she cursed the long walk it took to get into town, but today she needed time to organize her thoughts.  

When she reached the buildings, she absent-mindedly looked around her, her mind still occupied with her errands.  She blinked and flinched, ripped out of her organized thoughts and placed rudely back into reality.  She stopped and stood in the middle of the street.

There were no children playing ball in the alleyways, no visitors asking directions from friendly locals, and no merchants selling fresh bread or flowers out of their stores.  The streets were empty and the shops were closed.

Meryl spun around in circles, searching for another human being… anywhere.  She cocked an eyebrow in confusion and frustration and turned sharply on her heel.  She began to march back home.

The afternoon sun beat mercilessly upon her uncovered head as she stomped through the desert.  It wasn't easy to do, as each angry step sank in the loose sand, threatening to twist beneath her.  Her cast was filling with sand and her foot burned with an almost unbearable intensity.  _It's hard to stomp with a sprained ankle_, she thought irritably.  She stared at her feet, limping through the sand.  Each time she put a little too much pressure on her right foot, a bolt of pain shot through her leg.  She gritted her teeth and slowed her pace.

She was actually glad she had left her Derringer cape at home, since all the extra weight would have caused lots of extra pain.  The two Derringers in her pockets and the few spare bullets were slightly uncomfortable, but bearable, comparatively.

She looked up, searching for the house on the horizon.  She squinted, and put a hand up to block the sun's glare from her eyes.  _Well that wasn't there before…_

A dark smudge rose against the sky, changing shape and slowly growing larger as she strained to see what it was.  Her uneven footfalls slowed, then stopped completely.  Her eyes became wide.

"Smoke…" she whispered.  "Smoke means… fire.  The house… the house is on…"  

She stared bleakly at the billowing black cloud that was now rising from where the house would have been.  

Her hands flew to her hair and she snatched at it, yanking insanely at her raven locks.  She raised her head to the sky and shrieked a string of obscenities that would have done Wolfwood proud.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT IMBICILE BROOM-HEAD LET THE HOUSE BURN DOWN!!  THAT MORON JUST CAN'T BE IN ONE PLACE FOR MORE THAN ONE (beep)ING WEEK BEFORE IT'S COMPLETELY RUINED!!!  I SWEAR!!  HOW COULD ANYONE BE SO UNLUCKY?!" 

She pressed her hands to her eyes, fighting off the migraine she knew was coming.  Her feet began to move again, her hands still covering her eyes.  She shuffled toward the general direction of the house.  She didn't need to see now; she could smell the smoke from here.

The palms of her hands dug painfully into her eyes and her head felt as if it would explode.  Waves of nausea washed over her, threatening to tip her balance.  _How?  How?_  Her mind asked it like a broken record.  _How could anyone burn down a house in two hours?  I guess nothing's impossible for the Humanoid Typhoon…_

A hand fell roughly on her shoulder and she seized, her arms flailing about in her surprise.  She lost her balance and stumbled into someone.

"Are you okay?  You were about to step on some debris.  I kept trying to get your attention, but I guess you didn't hear me…"

Meryl looked up at Vash, who was trying to hold her up.

She regained her balance and spun around, her right fist flying up towards his eye.  Her mouth twitched in psychotic satisfaction as the blow connected, snapping his head back and upsetting his balance.  

"Hey, wait a minute!  I didn't do it!  It wasn't my fau-" He was interrupted as her hand delivered a stinging slap across his mouth.  He wiped away the blood from his split lip and covered his left eye.  He stepped back and stared at Meryl, whose hands were curled into tight fists at her sides.  She was silent, choking on her fury and glaring at him with eyes that didn't seem to see him.

"Meryl…" he began again, flinching as he saw her right hand whiz up towards his face again with lightning speed.

Her outraged expression cracked as her wrist was caught in his hand, his grip firm as steel.  She avoided looking at his face, fearing the rage that would undoubtedly be burning in his eyes.  _Oh, now I've really done it…  He's going to kill me._

She slowly raised her eyes to his and tried to quell the terror that was strangling her.  But the only thing she saw in his eyes was frustration and… apprehension.  His left eye was swollen, and already beginning to bruise.

"Will you please…" he sounded a bit out of breath.  "…Please just listen to me?"

He let go of her hand and she pulled it away from him, trying to hide the fact that it was still shaking with fear.  

"W-well if it isn't your fault, whose fault is it?" she asked, trying to get her nerves under control again.

He shook his head slightly, his hand retuning to his blackening eye.  "I don't know how it happened.  I was just-" He turned as a beaten old truck came rattling up to them, driving over the scattered pieces of still-burning debris.

Four men with rifles jumped out of the truck and advanced on Vash and Meryl.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" Vash asked with a smile.

One man wordlessly raised his gun and shot at Vash's foot.  Vash hopped out of the way, and the bullet struck the sand with a harmless **pffsh**.  

Another man stepped forward.  "Are you Vash the Stampede?" he demanded.

"No, I'm not," replied Vash, without skipping a beat.

"Liar!" screamed the man who had shot at him before, raising his rifle again, this time aiming at Vash's head.

"Knock it off, Carl!" barked the leader, swatting at his companion's gun.  It went off, shooting into the sky.  The leader turned back to Vash.

"Now look here, son.  Carl here recognizes you.  We knows yer lyin'."

"But I'm not, honestly, I-" Vash was cut off as a third man walked up to him, ramming the butt of his rifle into Vash's stomach.  The man in red doubled over, coughing.  Drops of liquid the same shade as his clothing spat from his gasping throat, splattering in the sand.

Meryl took a limping step forward, and the third man lunged for her, seizing her arm and wrenching it behind her back.  She cried out in pain and surprise.  He began pushing her toward the truck.  Carl and the fourth man brutally hauled Vash to his feet and half pushed-half dragged him to the covered back of the truck, pushing him inside, then following.  The fourth man pushed Meryl in with them, and then closed up the back.  She heard two doors open and close, and the engine start.


	11. Otto's Shipping Co

~*~*~Chapter 11~*~*~

It was dark in the back of the truck, but there was enough light to see the outlines of the two men and Meryl.  Vash held as still as he could with the barrel of a rifle jammed under his chin and the jolting movement of the truck's wheels beneath him.  The man known as Carl stared at him from the other end of the rifle, his eyes never leaving Vash's face.  _I sincerely hope his finger is not on the trigger_, prayed Vash.  

Meryl was sitting next to him, staring at her hands in her lap as the third man kept steady aim on her forehead.

"You know what we're gonna do with you?" sneered Carl's voice next to him.

"Shut up Carl," complained the other man.

Carl continued, not seeming to hear the other man.  "We're gonna string you up, and hang ya.  Then we're gonna shoot ya.  Then we're gonna burn yer stinkin' corpse 'till there's nothin' left."  His every word dripped with malicious pleasure; he was clearly looking forward to it.

"Shut UP, Carl!" the other man repeated, his voice becoming higher and more nervous.

"You shut your mouth Charlie, or I'll shut it for ya!" Carl barked, turning his head to glare at Charlie.

Vash took the opportunity to discreetly reach into his coat for his gun.  He groaned inwardly as his fingers found an empty holster.  It was still in the house.  _Correction; it _was_ in the house_.

He let out a resigned breath and glanced at Meryl's outline.  She was quiet and still, gazing at her empty hands in her lap.  Somehow, her silence and motionlessness seemed worse than if she had been sobbing and carrying on.  He leaned toward her slightly and touched her elbow with his finger.  _Hold on_, he pleaded silently.  She straightened a little and clasped her hands in her lap.

"If we burn him until there's nothing left, how are we going to collect the reward?"  Charlie demanded.

Vash's mind was wrenched back to the gunmen's argument.

"Yeah, but _he_ doesn't know that!" Carl drawled, motioning at Vash.

"He does now, you idiot!" screamed Charlie angrily.

"Hey!  You two knock it off back there!" a muffled voice ordered from the front of the truck.

Carl and Charlie fell silent, and Carl turned to glare at Vash again.

Vash stared at the wall above Charlie's head.

"Are we there yet?" he whined softly.

After what could have been minutes or hours, the truck rattled to a stop.  The two front doors opened and the leader and the other man got out.  Carl and Charlie readied their guns and motioned threateningly to Vash and Meryl.  Vash poked Meryl in the arm, and she looked up, straight into the barrel of Charlie's rifle.  They were hustled out of the back of the truck.

The leader and his companion walked in front of them while Carl and Charlie guarded from behind.  Meryl tried to keep up, but her limp wasn't fast enough for Carl.

"Speed it up, missy!  We haven't got all day," he yelled gruffly.

"I'm going as fast as I can," Meryl grumbled under her breath.

"What's holding it up back there?" the leader barked without turning around.

"Look, she can't go fast enough to…" Charlie began, but trailed off as Vash smoothly stooped and scooped Meryl into his arms.

"No problem at all!" Vash said cheerfully to the leader, who continued on.

"Urk…" was all Meryl said.

Meryl took the time to examine her surroundings.  They were walking through a large storehouse, wooden and metal boxes were stacked everywhere, some stacks reaching the ceiling, which was very high.  There were some more trucks like the one they had ridden in.  Most of them bore the faded lettering:  OTTO'S SHIPPING CO.  

The group stopped at the metal door of what appeared to be a storeroom.

"Put them in there," ordered the leader, and Charlie herded Vash into the room.  Just as his feet crossed the threshold, the door closed behind him and a heavy bolt slammed into place.  

Muffled voices were heard on the other side of the door, but the words were incoherent.

"PUT MEEEEE DOWN!" Meryl yelled, her fist waving in the air.

Vash set her down on a box and walked sulkily to the other side of the room.

"For the last time, I didn't-"

"Oh shut up, Vash," Meryl growled, her head in her hands.  "I know you didn't do it."

Vash nodded slightly and turned to look out the one tiny window in the room.  


	12. Broken

~*~*~Chapter 12~*~*~

Silence reigned for hours in the small, cluttered room.  Time and time again Vash would think of something to say, then look at her, grit his teeth, and stay silent.  

He was still looking out the window when the sun had set and there was no longer anything to see.  _The house was not my fault.  She could _try_ to be a little more understanding.  But that's really not her fault either, is it?_  He raised a hand to his forehead and sighed quietly.  _It's because I'm Vash the Stampede.  I'm the terrible outlaw with sixty billion double dollars on his head and the blood of countless innocents on his hands.  This… this is my fault.  Maybe I never should have come back in the first place.  I went against my better judgment doing it, but I still came back.  I put their lives in danger because of my useless sentimentalism.  Knives wasn't a threat anymore, but I didn't think about the bounty hunters and vengeful family members who would want nothing more than to see me die.  I was stupid… so stupid and naïve.  Now Meryl could die because of me.  Maybe I should just leave.  Get out of here and leave everyone at peace._

His head hit the cool metal of the wall and he bit his tongue, painfully aware of the tight, heavy self-loathing that settled in his heart.

"I should just leave.  Everyone would be so much better off without me around to screw things up…" he whispered to himself.  Suddenly he heard a loud THUNK, and he briefly saw stars as the heel of a white boot connected with his temple.

He turned to look at Meryl, who was standing next to her box, fists again clenched at her sides, her eyes spitting grey fire at him from across the room.

"How can you possibly say that?" she hissed.  "Don't you ever think about all the people you've helped?  Can you do anything more than sit around and feel sorry for yourself for being Vash the Stampede, or do you intend to do something about it?!"

His eyes narrowed.  He was tired, hungry, cold, and in a bad mood.  Now was not the time to be pressing his buttons.

"Does it really matter?  Do the lost lives mean nothing to you?!  What about Brad? Wolfwood? All the people in July and Augusta?  Even Legato didn't deserve to die!!"

"You were trying to protect the innocent…yourself…Millie…even me-"

"Trying isn't good enough!  The fact that I tried doesn't make up for what I've done!!"  He was screaming now, trying to hold back the hot tears that blurred his vision.  He cried constantly; he was such a baby.  But he was too angry… to angry at himself, to back down now.  "What am I supposed to do?  Forget?!  Everything that happens, it's always my fault!  Everyone who touches me dies!  Wolfwood almost died because of me!  I even put your life and Millie's in danger!  Why shouldn't I leave?!"

She was on him before he knew what was happening.  A white blur slammed him into the wall, then onto the floor.  She held him by his collar, completely ignoring the pain in her foot and wrist that made her want to pass out.

"WHY SHOULDN'T YOU LEAVE?  I'LL TELL YOU WHY YOU SHOULDN'T LEAVE!!  BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH OUR LIVES ARE IN DANGER, WE'RE YOU'RE FRIENDS AND WE LOVE YOU ANYWAY!  ALL OF US ARE PERFECTLY AWARE OF THE DANGER!! GOD KNOWS MILLIE AND I HAVE PULLED YOUR ASS OUT OF TROUBLE ENOUGH TIMES!!  AND WHY DO YOU THINK WOLFWOOD IS STILL HERE?  HE CAME THE CLOSEST TO ACTUALLY DYING, AND HE STILL HANGS AROUND, PROTECTING YOU, BEFRIENDING YOU!!  WHY DO YOU THINK THAT IS, VASH?  WHY?!"

She screamed all of it in his face, slamming his head into the pavement for emphasis.  Angry tears were streaming down her face by now, and she felt light headed from screaming.  She had been so angry.  Her vision had been blood red and her head pounded like a jackhammer.  She was shaking from the powerful adrenaline rush her anger had given her.  Now, as her anger began to fade, she felt completely drained and empty.  And depressed… Very, very depressed.

She had been looking right at him, but she didn't remember actually seeing him.  Now she saw him, though.  The mixture of awe, shock, horror, anger, and pain that stayed fixed on his face made her want to shoot herself.  The black eye she had given him was now even more of a shocking contrast to his pale skin.  

She removed her shaking hands from his collar and backed off him.  A wave of remorse, nausea, dizziness, and pain from her wounds made her double over, her hands around her head and her face on the floor, her knees digging into her chin.  A torrent of sobs that sounded like wails tore from her throat

Vash slowly and shakily sat up.  Then he froze, staring at her in wide-eyed dismay.  She had completely fallen apart.  But… This was Meryl.  Meryl, go-to-it, responsible, always-in-control-of-her-emotions-to-the-point-of-apathy, Stryfe.  The back of his head reminded him of how hard she had knocked his skull into the floor.  _Maybe it was all just too much,_ he decided.  _Falling down the stairs, Millie and Wolfwood leaving, my nightmare, the house burning down, those whackos…and now this_.  

He knelt next to her and lightly touched her arm.  "Meryl…?" he murmured.  She clutched her head harder.

He reached his arm across her back and rested his head on the back of her shoulder.  "Please…"

She was quieter now, but her knew it was only because she was exhausted.  _My God… This is my fault.  I did this to her.  I did this to Meryl._

"Please…" he breathed.

A wretched sob shook her, and she made a kind of wheezing, choking sound, as if she could hardly breathe.  Her elbow jerked back, hitting him in the nose.  He pulled away form her, staring at the floor and holding a hand to his bloody nose.

Her head rose from her arms slowly, every centimeter taking huge amounts of effort.  Her eyes were red and her damp, scraggly hair clung to her face.  She took in the scene; his head was bowed and both hands were in his lap.  A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose to his chin and his unkempt blond hair hid his eyes.  He looked like a child.  It was strange how such a tall man could look so childish.

"You…big…baby…" she said quietly, her voice hoarse and cracking.

He raised his head a little and looked at her reproachfully.

A big baby with a square jaw and an…earring…

She feebly reached one hand to him and took his.  He looked at her for a moment, the looked down at her hand in his.

"I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry," she whispered through intermittent sobs.  

Vash looked back up at her his face kind yet cheerless.  "You have nothing to be sorry about.  I suppose I deserved that."

"No you didn't."  She closed her eyes.

His mouth twitched weakly, unable to form the bitter smile that mirrored the thoughts that ran through his brain. His eyes traveled over her face; it looked so much more peaceful than it had before…

His smile faded as he realized she had fallen asleep; from pure exhaustion, probably.  He returned her hand to her and took off his coat, laying it carefully on the floor.  He stood and went to Meryl's side, ready to pick her up, and stopped.

A soft smile touched his lips.  She looked like a little white cat, curled up in a little ball like that.  He stooped and gathered her into his arms, careful not to wake her.  He laid her gently in his coat, and wrapped her up in it.  The cold air was already starting to get to him.  She stirred and mumbled something.

"Oops," he murmured.

Her eyes opened halfway.  "Mmm… huh?  Vash…?  What are you…?"

"It's cold," he said plainly.

"But you… No, I can't take your coat…" She stared to unwrap herself.

"I'll tie you up if you don't stay in there," he said warmly, his eyes smiling.

Meryl looked at him quizzically, and then turned over.  "Whatever…" she mumbled.

He kept smiling at her.  He wasn't really sure why he was smiling, but he didn't try to stop himself.

"How do you plan to stay warm?"

"Huh?"  I thought she was asleep.  "Um… I'll be fine.  Really."

She turned slightly and gave his white dress-shirt a sidelong look.  "Really."

He nodded happily, forcing his arms not to wrap around his shoulders.  It was _cold_.  His face took on a more blank expression when he noticed the white puffs that appeared in front of his face whenever he exhaled.  "Really…" he repeated absent-mindedly.  

Meryl struggled out of her red cocoon and sat up.

"Take it back," she said, holding the coat out to him.

Vash stared at her, dumbfounded.  His eye twitched.  Then he began to chuckle.  He bowed his head and laughed at the floor.  His arms crossed over his chest and he rocked back and forth in hysteria.  He reminded Meryl of one of those toys that you punch, and it wobbles around before returning to its upright position.

_He looks like he's going to fall over. How could he? He's already sitting on the floor!_  Meryl glared at him, her arm still comically outstretched.

"You… You…" He gasped between fits of laughter.  "Just… un…believable… I… I… Can't… Breathe…"

_Typical_, Meryl thought as he went toppling to the ground.  _Grrrrr…_

"What the hell are you laughing about you-" Meryl stopped short as Vash covered his eyes and pointed at her.  More specifically, he was pointing at her blouse.  She looked down.

"GAAAHH!  What the-  I'm-  Vash, why the hell are you laughing?!"

"It's… it's…" he broke off, descending into another torrent of laughter as Meryl stared at the front of her blouse in horror.

"VASH SHUT UP!  THIS ISN'T FUNNY!  I NEED HELP!"  She the fact that she didn't feel any pain only scared her more.  The deep red stain covered the whole front of her blouse, and was spreading as she watched.

"To-…to-…"  He couldn't control the giggles long enough to say an entire word.

She put her hands to her face dramatically and stared at the ceiling. "Ooooohhhhh….I'm going to die here, in this miserable little cell, without ever seeing Millie or Wolfwood again!  I'm not ready to die!  There's so much left to do with my life!  Oh, it's so unfair!" she groaned loudly.

Vash struggled with his giggles, and lost_.  I need to _(ha ha)_ stop this so I can tell her… Maybe if someone slaps me… _ Vash looked at Meryl for a moment, then sat up, still seized by hysteria.  He knew something that would get him slapped.

Meryl's eyes popped open when she noticed that Vash had kissed her on the end of the nose.  Without thinking, she hauled back and slapped him.

_Just what I needed_.  "Ouch," he whispered, then shook his head, clearing away the last giggles that were left in his system.  He looked at Meryl, who was clutching her head and staring at the ceiling in dismay.

"Meryl," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.  She stared at the ceiling.  "Meryl," he tried again, and she looked at him dully.

"That's not blood," he grinned.  

Her expression remained dull and blank.

"That's tomato juice."

She stared at him.  "Tomato juice," she repeated softly.  He nodded.

Her eyes came back into focus and she stared at him.  His eyes were shining and his cheeks were flushed from his recent giggle fit.

"Tomato juice.  Wait… TOMATO JUICE?!"

Vash held up a bottle the size of a bottle of nail polish with a little red tomato printed on the label.  "It was in my coat pocket.  I guess the cap came off!"  He beamed.

Meryl stared at him incredulously.  She shook her head.  He nodded.

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped in a dead faint.

"The hell-?"  Vash caught her before she hit the floor and leaned her against him.  "Poor Meryl," he said with a smile.


	13. Kuro Neko to the rescue!

Hihi everybody!  I'm thrilled at the interviews I've gotten!  Thank you so much!  Now, chapter 13 of Happy Donuts!

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun (boo hoo) please don't sue me.  ;_;

~*~*~Chapter 13~*~*~

Vash woke first, rubbing the haze of sleep out of his eyes.  Judging by the heat, it was already past noon.  He vaguely wondered why none of the men had come to get them.  They had all seemed anxious to do away with him.  _Carl especially had his heart set on it, _he thought dryly.

_Well, here we are again_, he reflected, looking down at the top of Meryl's head.  He smoothed her hair and started to get up.  He was very careful this time, and he made it to his feet without rousing her.  His boots made no sound as he approached the door, his ears alert to very sound, even Meryl's quiet breathing behind him.  He put his ear to the cool metal of the door and strained to listen.  There was nothing but deathly silence.  However, it was a pretty thick door.

"Mmm… Tomato… you…idiot…" Meryl mumbled in her sleep.

Vash covered his mouth to keep from laughing.  He turned away from the door, deciding not to dwell on their kidnappers.

"Nyo!"

Vash jumped and looked around, confused.

"NYO!"

He walked to the window. A little black cat peered up at him with huge green eyes.

"Nyo."  It started to scratch the wall.

"Well, hello, little black cat," Vash greeted it.

"Nyo," the little black cat said, then turned to trot away.

"Well, goodbye, little black cat," Vash said, with one eyebrow raised.

A muffled noise came from the outside of the door.  Vash whipped around, vaulting over the scattered boxes (and Meryl) and coming to a short stop in front of the door.

"Helloooo?" he called, pounding on the door.

"Vash?" a familiar voice called, closer to the door.

"In here!" he pounded on the door harder.

"Shut uuuup…" Meryl mumbled, covering her head with Vash's jacket.

"Mr. Vash?  Meryl?  Are you in there?" a high-pitched voice called.

Meryl shot up, instantly awake.  " Was that…_Millie_?"

"LET US OUT!!" Vash stormed.

"I don't know where the keys are!" roared a very frustrated priest.  "How the hell did you get in there, anyway?!"

"What are you doing back? Your were supposed to be gone for **ten** days!" Vash yelled.

"My second oldest sister's fiancé ran off with the milk man and little big sister called off the wedding.  But second oldest sister is glad he's gone.  She said she suspected something about him.  He watched Martha Stuart a lot."

Meryl and Vash gave each other a strange look.

"Go figure!" Millie chirped through the door.

"I found the key!" Wolfwood announced.

"Er… um…" Vash shook his head and returned his thoughts to Wolfwood.  "Ok, open the door!"

"Stand back!" Wolfwood ordered.

"Huh?  What?  Why?" Vash stared at the door warily.

"Mr. Priest!" squeaked Millie.

"Oh…" Vash's eyes popped open wide.  "Stand back Meryl!"  

He sprinted to the other side of the room and ducked behind some boxes.

"What's going on?" Meryl demanded.

"FOR GOD'S SAKE GET BACK!!" Vash screamed over the top of his box.

Meryl crawled around behind a steel box.

A huge KA-BOOM filled the air and a little smoke seeped in.

Vash peeped up over his box.

Meryl's head peered cautiously around her box.

The room seemed to be no different, but the door sported a colossal inward dent.  Smoke snuck into the room between the buckled hinges.

"THAT DID US A LOT OF GOOD, WOLFWOOD!!" bawled Vash.

"SHUT (cough hack) UP!"

Meryl made an annoyed sound and hid behind the box.

"GET BACK EVERYBODY!" Millie cried.

Vash ducked behind the crate just before the door exploded inward, flying through the room and landing behind Vash.

"EEHHII!" he squeaked.

The smoke cleared to reveal Millie, brandishing her stungun.  Wolfwood stood beside her, limply hanging on to his Cross Punisher, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. He turned to Millie and grinned wolfishly.

"Nice shot, honey!"

Millie giggled.

Vash's head rose over the top of the crate, his face and hair covered with soot.  "Yeah, nice shot," he said somewhat peevishly.

"How did you find us?" Meryl asked, sitting up to peer over her box.

A small black feline trotted out of the smoke and sat down, striking a pose like an Egyptian diety.

"Nyo," it said elegantly.

"You have got to be kidding me," Vash and Meryl groaned in unison.

Millie laughed.


End file.
